


No Reply

by lovely_rita



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blood, Kidnapping, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovely_rita/pseuds/lovely_rita
Summary: When Paul doesn't turn up to the studio one day, the other three Beatles must find out what happened
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	No Reply

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I really sucked on the summary this time, huh?  
> Anyways, this is made up of a bunch of asks by a dear lovely anon, and so I have compiled them together to make a fic. This for all of you who can't deal with all the angst in 'It's All Too Much' as this is a lot lighter.  
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!!!   
> Anyways, please enjoy <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

There’s a noise coming from the back door.

Paul’s the only one in the house, and he’s sure no one would visit this early in the morning. He slips out of the bedroom, padding barefoot towards the back door, heart thudding against his chest. When he gets there the door is still shut, and there’s no sign of anyone coming in.

Paul sighs, letting relief wash over him for a second before he heads into the kitchen.

He only takes a few steps before a hand is wrapped around his neck from behind, and before he can even realise what’s going on a cloth is pushed against his face. He struggles and fights, clawing at the arms holding him and desperately trying to move his face away from the rag. He realises too late there’s more than one person, and even as he tries to ward them off his body starts to become limp, and he’s thrown into a dazed stupor before blacking out.

\--

When Paul doesn’t turn up to the studio in the first hour, John knows something’s up. Paul’s always the punctual one, and if he isn’t then he always rings to let them know he’ll be late. Worry churns in John’s stomach and he sighs for what must be the tenth time in the last ten minutes.

“D’ya think I should go look for him? Maybe go to his house?”

George looks over at him, his eyes flicking back from the clock, and he sets his guitar aside.

“Yeah, I think so. We’ll come with ya.”

They’re out the studio before Brian can say anything, and they all bundle in John’s car. John drives them over to Paul’s house, and they all immediately notice his car still on the drive.

“Must be in then,” John says, but when they knock on the door there’s no answer. John fishes his own key out of his pocket and unlocks the door.

“Paul?”

The house is silent, and the three of them venture around it in search of Paul, but all three come up empty. There’s a plant knocked over and a vase smashed by the front door, but it doesn’t look too concerning.

“If he’s not here, where the hell can he be?” John asks. George shrugs, and they share worried glances before Ringo pipes up.

“Maybe we’ve missed him. He’s gone to the studio as we’ve come ‘ere.”

John hopes Ringo’s right, and they all head back to the studio in hopes of finding Paul there.

\--

The pain is the first thing he notices. His hands seem to be bound together, so tightly he’s not sure if it’s sliced the skin. He tries to wiggle his feet but they seem to be tied down too, he guesses to a chair, and panic ignites in his chest, spreading like wildfire until he rapidly blinks his eyes open.

It’s dark, the sound of dripping water a lot louder than it should be, and he squints, desperately trying to figure out where he is.

He tries to say something but it comes out muffled, and he realises, now that he’s fully aware, that he’s been gagged. There’s footsteps to the side of him and he squirms, eyes widening as a figure emerges.

“Hello, Mr McCartney. Nice of you to finally join us.”

Paul doesn’t rise to the bait, and the silence only makes the man laugh before a fist is colliding with his jaw. Paul’s head snaps to the side, pain blossoming across his cheek. His head throbs and his vision blurs slightly for a second, however, he doesn’t have time to pull himself together when a flash goes off in his face.

“Smile,” the man laughs, and Paul realises they’ve taken a photo of him. A photo of him looking so vulnerable, and he hopes to god they don’t sell it to the press.

He wheezes and a hand comes towards him, petting at his hair. Paul turns away, yell silenced by the cloth tied between his lips.

“Now now, Paul. You behave, you go home unharmed. If you don’t, well... you may never go home at all.”

Paul’s eyes widen and he tries to speak, tears brimming his eyes as frustration burns at his fingers. The man pulls the gag down from his mouth, spitting a low ‘ _what?_ ’

“What do you want me here for?”

His voice is shaky, but he’s way beyond even contemplating trying to put on a hard persona.

“We’re just waiting for some money from those friends of yours then we’ll leave you alone.”

The man’s voice is harsh making Paul bristle slightly at the way his words are smirked.

Before Paul can say anything else, the cloth is pushed back between his teeth with a muffled yell, and he watches as the man simpers, brushing his cheek lightly with his thumb, breath hot against his jaw.

“Now be good, Paul. I’m off to send your friends a lovely letter to show how you’re getting on.”

The man walks away and Paul lets a tear land in his lap, struggling uselessly at the restraints against his wrists.

He’s not sure how he’s going to get out of this.

\--

When they get back to the studio, they find Brian in the foyer, his face drained of colour and his lips thin as he hands John an envelope.

“This came through the door,” Brian says, but the worry etched around his eyes makes John open it almost instantly.

He comes face to face with a photograph of Paul, tied to a chair with a cloth wrapped around his mouth. His eyes are wide, fear evident, and John wants to throw up. He pushes the photo into George’s hands and stumbles to sit down, his breathing heavy and his vision distorted. He’s not sure what to do, but the bile rising in his throat makes him swallow, the balls of his hands pushing against his eyes.

There’s silence for a while until George speaks up, his voice low and nervous.

“How do we get him back?”

Brian clears his throat, eyes dark.

“They’ve not told us anything else yet.”

“Well, when they do tell me first, yeah? I’ll be ready to go get him myself,” John says, jaw set and eyes slim as he clenches his fists in his lap.

“John I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Ya shouldn’t go alone,” Ringo says, but John’s already made up his mind.

“Watch me.”

\--

“Hello?”

“Hey John, are you missing your dear Paul?”

The voice is dark and it makes John grimace as he pushes the phone closer to his ear. He doesn’t reply, but the man on the other ends speaks again.

“I need you to drop £4,000 at the address we are going to send to you.”

“Christ, we don’t have that kind of money,” John says, a hand coming up to rub at his forehead.

“If you don’t give the money, you won’t get Paul, understood?”

“Let me speak to him,” John says quickly, spat down the speaker, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check.

There’s a pause, the only sound being John’s harsh breathing before the voice replies.

“No.”

John’s knuckles turn white around the phone and he breathes in heavily.

“Please? I just need to fuckin’ know he’s okay.”

There’s a loud sigh on the other end before John can hear some shuffling around. The voice that replies makes John’s breath hitch, and he stills.

“John it’s me, I’m fine but they’re not going to let me go until-”

Paul’s cut off by the sound of someone being slapped and John gasps, pressing the phone impossibly closer to his ear.

“Paul?”

“Paul can’t come to the phone right now.”

The voice is back, and John’s got tears in his eyes from both frustration and fear of what they did to Paul.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” John seethes, his voice shaking slightly.

“You have one week.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

\--

It takes a few days, as well as bribing the police before they let him tag along. This is their third time looking, and John hopes this is it. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he still can’t find him.

They’ve left the money in the place asked, after receiving the address, but the only reply they got back was a ‘ _thank you_ ’. So now it’s up to them to find Paul.

They’re at an abandoned apartment building in the back streets of London, and John hopes to god this is the right place.

He follows the police into the building, all of their eyes searching before one of the policemen calls from the very top room.

John is legging it before anyone can tell him not to, and when he gets to the top he sees him. Paul’s still tied to the chair, dozing slightly as his head bows forward, and John could cry.

He hurries forward, touching Paul’s cheek lightly causing dull eyes to look back at him.

“You alright?” John asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as his eyes flicker over the bruises and dried blood on Paul’s face.

“I’m okay,” Paul says, though his lie is short-lived when he grimaces, the policemen hurrying around him to get him off the chair.

John sighs with relief, and as soon as the policeman unties Paul’s wrists, Paul topples forward, his body limp after being secured in the same place for too long. He falls against John, who holds onto him tightly.

Paul’s shaking now, and John’s not quite sure if he’s crying. But he holds him close anyway, raking a hand gently through his hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, continuing to stroke Paul’s hair.

“I’ve got you.”

—————————————————

They’ve opted not to go to the hospital to try and stave the press off for as long as possible. When they get back to Paul’s house, Paul’s still shaking and he’s got John’s hand in a vice-like grip. John doesn’t blame him, and he holds back just as tightly. He helps Paul into the house, a firm hand around his waist to keep him upright as the police drive away to start the investigation.

He helps Paul down onto the sofa before pulling him into a hug, grappling at the back of Paul’s ragged shirt as he finally lets himself cry.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, and Paul tucks his face against John’s neck with a shuddering breath.

“Please stay,” Paul whispers, his voice broken and raw as John calms down a little, stroking at Paul’s back.

“I’m never going to leave,” John says, tilting his head slightly to kiss at Paul’s cheek.

When he pulls away, he finally gets a look at Paul’s face. There’s little cuts here and there and a bruise along his cheekbone, as well as some caked blood over his eyebrow.

“I’m gonna clean ya up, yeah?”

Paul nods and finally lets go of John. John moves into the kitchen and grabs a few tissues and wets them before going back over to Paul. He dabs at the cuts gently, wiping away the blood, and he lets whispered apologies fall from his lips every time Paul grimaces.

“There we go. Ya don’t look like yer gonna keel over on me anymore.”

Paul gives a slight smile, and John gingerly pecks at his lips.

“I’m so glad yer safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are very appreciated <3  
> You can find me on Tumblr @lovely-rita-meter-maidd so don't be afraid to come and say hi <3


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